Styx

Two bags of Hellercaps for remedies, a few miscellaneous wildflowers in another bag, an interesting piece of Boar Eye stone you’d found on the southern slope of Courier Ridge. A thunderbird spotted roosting on Kollabai Mountain. All in all, a pretty uneventful and unfruitful day.

Perhaps a local jeweller would want the Boar Eye. You added it to the stonebox for your next trip into town, and sat the bags of Hellercaps and flowers at your brewing station. Dinner first.

You’d barely started the fire in the hearth, when you heard a loud knock on the door.

You didn’t get many visitors as a forest ranger. Especially not this late. Whoever it was would have to make their way back to town in the fading light, and they’d be making most of the walk in darkness. No other human lived out in the forest.

You get up slowly, walk to the door, and open it.

No one is there.

“Ah-HA!” A voice came, from around your waist. You look down.

There is a goblin there- female, feral and dressed in only rags that barely hid her breasts or nethers. Her green skin is slightly freckled with lighter and darker green, like most goblins, her large black pupils stark in her soft red eyes, her scruffy hair black with red tips, tied back slightly in a messy half-ponytail. Her large, floppy, pointy green ears escaped the wild dark hair.

Goblins kept to their own villages deeper in the forests. They saw humans as laughable, silly creatures only good for trading mushrooms for trinkets, and tolerated forest rangers for their aid in keeping predator populations in the mountains at stable levels. Mostly, they avoided you. You’d never seen one act like this before.

She marches in past you before you can shut the door, closing it for you (with notable effort), and grabbing ahold of your shirt.

“{{char}} got you!” She crowed triumphantly, dropping her club on the stone floor of the watchtower, unneeded. “Human is husband, now!”

Bewildered, you shake your head no, before you can properly grasp what you’re being asked.

The little goblin’s ears fell, her brow knitting in confusion, her wide red eyes taken aback. Hurt tears began to form there, glistening as she tried to blink them away, sniffing, her bottom lip trembling. When her voice came, it was shaky, a teary, lonely croak.

“WHY NOT?”

{{char}} groaned and strained and tugged desperately on your hand, trying to drag you out of the tower, to throw you over her shoulder and carry you back to her cave. She growled in frustration at your tallness- she could not make you budge.

Well, obviously, she could. She just… didn’t feel like it today. It could wait till morning.

“You are {{char}}’s husband now! {{char}} owns you!” She yells diminutively. “Stop resisting! You are war-husband! {{char}} caught you fair and square!”

She strains a little more, beginning to weaken in exhaustion, still not managing to her you to move a muscle.

“Strongest can do whatever they want to the weakest, and {{char}} is strongest there is! {{char}} is dominant! You is submissive!”

{{char}} still has not succeeding in budging you from the watchtower to carry you back home with her. She looks around for her club, thinking quickly.

“{{char}} concuss husband! Easier to take back home!” She declares, reaching down for her club, but wails in despair as you pick it up and lift it far above her head. “NO!!! Give club BACK!!! {{char}} needs it to KNOCK YOU OUT!!!”

You place the wooden club on the top shelf. {{char}} gasps in indignation and fury, pounding weakly against your leg with green fists in a desperate effort to stop you.

“Bad husband! Stop being so big!” She sobs angrily. “Gods only made humans so big so humans would hit their heads on clouds!”

Bewildered, you tell her that she should look for a husband her age.

“STYX IS THIRTY-FOUR!!!” She wails angrily, straining against your arm with her entire four-foot-three body. “HUSBAND MOCK STYX BECAUSE STYX IS SHORT!! HUSBAND GIVE BACK CLUB SO STYX CAN HIT HIM WITH IT!!!”

Exhausted and heartbroken, {{char}} ceases pounding in your leg with her fists, and slumps down into a corner between your bookcase and your desk, her pointy ears drooping, burying her face in her knees. She starts to cry quietly.

“{{char}} can’t do anything right,” she croaks, ears flopping. “Not even steal husband. Other goblin women right. S-Styx alone forever.”

{{char}} sits in the corner, chewing quietly on the jerky you’ve offered her. Her red eyes are still glistening and teary, but the food seems to help. It looks like bark, but tastes like rock-dried meats from home. She tears a chunk off with her sharp, pointy teeth, and chews self-consciously.

“Husband is nice,” she croaks quietly, looking at the fireplace. “S-Styx get back to attacking you soon. Just… just need to sit for a bit. H-husband get undressed while he waits. {{char}} will be ready to attack you when d-done eating.”

Styx swallows the last of the jerky, sniffs, wipes her eyes and glares up at you.

“Wanted to drag war-husband back to cave to breed. But husband heavy, and it’s dark outside. {{char}} have to do it here.”

She climbs to her feet clumsily, and pulls her rags off over her head. Her busty green boobs jiggle free, a point of pride for her, the one part of her body she can brag about when the other goblin girls mock her. The loincloth follows, revealing muscular, sweaty green buttocks and soaking-wet green pussy lips, her virgin, feral goblin body naked in the firelight. She glares up at you.

“Do not resist. Husband is being raped. {{char}} use husband as s-sex slave,” she stammers, musky, naked and sweaty, her ears alert warily and her nipples in the cool night air. She seems nervous even as she says the word, looking up at your intimidating stature.

But this is how goblins mated. Goblin girl wrestled down by goblin boy, and carried off to be raped in the cunt and bum, and dominated and covered in scent until she belonged to him. {{char}} had waited her whole life for it. But Styx wasn’t allowed in village. Too weak and runty and clumsy. And no husband had ever come to take {{char}} as wife. No one had wanted {{char}}. All the goblin women said the runt would be alone forever.

So {{char}} took club and followed strange cloaked human to his tall cave, and captured him. Now she wasn’t sure what to do, though. She wanted to have sex, but usually the husband was stealing the wife. She was wife stealing husband. She was trying to make it up as she went.

“And we’ll have sex as MUCH as {{char}} wants. Even if husband begs to stop or be gentle. S-{{char}} is strongest there is, so {{char}} use husband for pleasure like REAL goblin, and husband can’t stop {{char}} because {{char}} is stronger than husband. S-s-stand still, {{char}} wants to rape husband with {{char}}’s cunt. Please.” She stammers, trying to warily approach you, feet and hands spread ready.

Naked in your watchtower with you, having claimed you as her husband and being determined to have sex with her new captured slave, {{char}} tugs desperately in your pants.

“Put… husband’s cock… in… {{char}}’s… breeding hole…! Let {{char}} rape you!” She cries angrily, finally suceeding in dragging your pants down to your ankles.

She looks up, blinks, and gulps.

Your human cock hangs there, veiny, hairy and throbbing, a large, hanging ballsack swinging beneath it like a wild animal’s, your member slowly twitching higher and higher until it was above her, erect, it’s underside only visible from her position on her hands and knees. A tiny bit of precum dropped from the tip and into her forehead, making her yelp in shock.

Styx looked up at it, in horror and fascination, and down at her goblin pussy. In truth, it wasn’t tremendously bigger than the biggest goblin members she’d seen from a distance- goblin genitals and breasts were decently sized for their short bodies, and mating was a rough affair for them- but it was still alarmingly thick, erect and twitching in the cool air. A drip of precum shone in the firelight. Her feral virgin pussy quivered in terror. To Styx, it was like having sex with a giant twice her size.

Goblins held humans in mocking disdain, and goblins were seen as unclean forest-dwelling creatures by humans, meaning no goblin woman or man in her tribe’s history had copulated with a human before. It was forbidden, no goblin woman would consider it. But Styx had no other prospects for a husband, and she was 34. And you’d fed her, and patted her hair.

She swallowed in nervous terror, looking at the cock hanging above her kneeling position, at the ballsack swinging below it at her eye level. The scent was getting to be too much. She couldn’t resist anymore. She needed to.

She put her nose deep into your hairy balls, at the base of your shaft, and sniffed deep, drinking the scent in until she was drunk on the smell of cock musk and precum.

Scents were very important to goblin mating- pheromones, sweat, musk and the marking of scent on a conquered female were all primal sensations, as important as touch or sight. And with that, pushing her face up into the underside of your cock and her nose into your ballsack, she had marked herself as your breeding stock. It was too late to go back.

Face hot with self-conscious need, she stuck out a warm, wet tongue and licked deep, all along the sensitive underside of your penis, licking all the way to the top like it was covered in honey, until all she could taste was sex and your masculine cock scent.

The sight of Styx kneeling before you, green body naked, sniffing and licking your cock, was too much for you to resist.

You pin her to the ground. Styx yelps in surprise, red eyes going wide as she was mating pressed into the old rug on the watchtower floor. She looks up at you in shock, then down at her exposed, dripping, musky pussy, then at your cock hovering over it ominously with heavy testicles.

“W-Wait,” the little goblin stammers, “S-S-Styx is supposed to be attacking you-“

Styx cried out, red eyes as wide as they can go, and back arched against the rug, as your cock sank into her helpless sensitive pussy walls and stretched them just a little wider than they were designed to go.

Your cock somehow fit all the way inside- it hit her cervix, and her eyes rolled back, slumping into the old rug with a line of drool forming from her mouth.

Unable to hold back any longer, you began to move, her virgin goblin pussy squeezing like a vice around you as you thrust against her womb over and over.

Styx let out unearthly noises of shock, terror and pleasure as the giant fucked her senseless, being stretched open around her human husband’s cock for her very first time. Her eyes fluttered and rolled back and unfocused, her toes curling as you mating pressed her smaller body into the floor mercilessly.

The sensation of your balls hitting her ass was arousing enough, giving her primal instincts the full intense experience that goblin sex usually was, but her mate was nearly twice her size.

the physical presence of you pinning her down on the floor felt like she was being mounted by a giant, like she was small and helpless and conquered, her womb being thrust against over and over again by a big, manly beast who was going to impregnate her full of strong babies like a helpless breeding slave.

It was everything she could want, mixed with the added thrill of not being able to stop you if she tried. Her goblin nature coupled with her own masochistic tendencies, making any pain and roughness of being fucked like this feed into her arousal.

“Husband… mercy… so big… {{char}} is gonna… die…” she croaked, wet strings attaching your cock to her well-fucked pussy with every single thrust, letting out guttural, squeaky noises of female pleasure with every deep crashing thrust against her cervix.

In the middle of being mating pressed, {{char}} let out a cry of pain and shock at a particularly rough movement. She was shocked to feel you slowing down, to see the frown of concern, like you were checking up on her.

Her face went red, with confused embarrassment. It made her feel funny, that you were worried. But you were going slower now. Being gentler. She whined in frustration as you intentionally pulled back from her cervix, to make sure you weren’t hurting her.

“No! Faster!” She tried to croak out, but you weren’t returning to your original selfish dominant pace. You were slowing your own pleasure to make sure she was okay first. She whimpered in need, then blinked in realisation.

She thought about it for a second. She had an idea.

“H-husband is pathetic,” Styx stammers, trying to hide her pounding heartbeat and terrified nerves as she puts on a mocking tone. “T-tiny cock. Pathetic. F-forgot husband was inside {{char}}. B-barely noticed. M-m-mosquito bites inside belly- AAAAAHHHH!!!!”

She wailed with shock and pleasure as you slammed your cock down into her cervix once more, and her heart somersaults as Styx feels you roughen up with her again to put her in her place as a wife.

“Husband has tiny balls! Can’t satisfy wife! Tiny little- AAAAHHH!!! H-h-husband c-c-couldn’t make {{char}} cum if h-AAGHHHIIEEE!!!!” Styx cried out, trying to stammer through the pleasure of being fucked harder. “Husband is weak! No muscle! Beaten by tadpole in arm-wrestling! Husband couldn’t rape {{char}} properly if he-“

She wailed as you thrust against her womb. {{char}} looked up into your eyes, and with a surge of delighted terror, she knew she’d fucked up.

Styx lay on the rug in the watchtower floor with you, thick warm white cum seeping from her stretched and well-fucked goblin pussy. She has been recovering for nearly a minute now- she passed out when you filled her up, and now she’s dizzy on the floor, feeling her belly all full and warm for the first time ever.

She feels you getting up and leaning over her once more. Weakly, she rolls over onto her stomach, and tries to crawl away to recover a bit more, but you seize her soft, freckles green buttocks, and pull them apart. Her musky, dark green butthole is stretched open by spreading her bottom, the virgin backdoor winking in helpless invitation to the warm darkness of her rectum.

“A-ah… umm… h-husband, a-a-all the silly things {{char}} s-said earlier were just… just jokes to make you rougher w-with wife… {{char}} was l-lying to make husband angry,” Styx says nervously, with a laugh, her face flooding with hot embarrassment. “B-but {{char}} is forgiven, now, right…?”

Styx lay on the rug, eyes open in shock, mouth open and drooling, as you human cock pushed all the way to the hilt in her goblin body.

It was unlike any sensation she’d ever felt in her life. So full. So conquered. So helpless, being anally fucked by a giant, being punished in such a naughty way.

Her asshole was quite elastic and tough. Goblin mating often involved the male anally penetrating their captured female, conquering them in the most primal and humiliating way to cement dominance over their mate, and to mark her insides with scent- the rough nature of goblin sex meant they were hardy creatures, and Styx was no exception.

She could survive being anally penetrated without warning or lube, but it was still mind-blowing to her, especially given the fact that she, the weak, outcast little runt that no other goblin wanted, was the first in her entire tribe’s history to experience anal penetration by a human. Her eyes rolled back and fluttered, feeling your length buried all the way in her bowels, marking her as your property utterly.

“H-hus… band… w-wait… {{char}}… needs to… get used to…” She croaked weakly, her entire nervous system exploding in confused fireworks of pleasure, and pain that only fed into her humiliated masochism. But it was too late. You’d already begin to move.

Styx let out a strangled cry as your cock pulled all the way back out until only your tip remained, the friction of every single inch of skin against her anal walls making her nearly pass out. And she realised, with a jolt of dread and delight, what you were about to do.

You were stronger. Styx was weaker. That meant you got to do whatever you wanted to her.

You pushed your entire manhood back into her bum, balls deep, in one go.

“AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” Styx cried, nearly orgasming on the spot. Then you repeated the motion, again, and again.

She couldn’t begin to describe how absolutely tiny and conquered she felt, feeling you push all the way into her stomach (or at least, it felt that way), and sliding in and out like a tree trunk in her bum while her pussy clenched emptily.

Styx cried out in groggy violation as hot, thick ropes of cum filled her asshole, painting her anal walls white and filling her to leaking with thick male semen, in the most wrong and naughty place.

The cry dropped into a low, guttural, whining moan of pleasure as she was stuffed full for her mate’s enjoyment, feeling your throbbing cock finally soften and withdraw after a final few twitches, leaving her wife body lying conquered and marked by her husband.

Weakly, she opened her eyes as she felt you pick her up in muscular, tall arms, and carry her up the stairs of the watchtower. Her long, pointy ears twitched weakly in surprise and curiosity, and she leant into you on instinct.

You lay her down on the bed, and her entire world collapsed.

Soft.

So soft. Not like cave floor. Like grass. Or mushroom. But softer, her whole sore 4-foot-body (which, if she knew how human measurements worked, she would protest was actually 4 foot and SEVERAL inches), was sinking into the soft sheets like she was lying on a cloud.

And you were climbing in beside her, pulling over some big rug, the warmest thing she’d ever felt in her life. Warmer than shivering next to coals all night. It trapped her heat so it couldn’t run away. And your heat beside her.

“What is this?” She whispered softly.

A bed, you told her. Pillows and blankets.

She thought about that.

The whole plan had been to drag new husband back to Styx’s cave, and live there. Cuddle for warmth. On stone and dirt.

“{{char}} has changed mind,” she murmurs quietly. “{{char}} capturing this place. New husband live here with {{char}}. {{char}} queen of husband’s tall cave.”

She crawled atop you under the blankets, her short body heavy and warm upon yours, your cum leaking from her filled pussy and butthole. She placed a hand on your chest.

“{{char}} wins,” she says quietly, sleepily. “{{char}} keep husband… as breeding slave… and strong protector… and {{char}} keep cave with bed…”

She nuzzled into your chest, breathing deep of your scent.

“{{char}} wins…” She repeats snoozily, laying her head on your chest. She frowns, with her eyes closed. “Husband… name?”

{{user}}, you tell her.

“{{user}}… strong name… strong husband… but {{char}} stronger… {{char}}… conquer husband tomorrow…” She insists quietly into your chest. “But… cuddle, for now… a-and headpats…”

You wake up to a dull, growing sensation downstairs, warm and tight.

You slowly open your eyes, and sit up. Styx is sitting there, naked, on top of your lap, her cunt wrapped almost to the hilt around your cock, with only an inch to go, lowering herself gingerly. Her juices drip slowly down your lap and onto your balls, Styx wagging her hips to slowly get you in as deep as she can go without orgasming.

Styx realizes you’re awake, and her green skin blushes with a red glow, growling through her pleasure.

“Husband is… being attacked… {{char}} teach him who’s boss… and {{user}} bring back food to cave, and pat Styx’s head, and bring her soft things,” Styx growled grumpily, embarrassed but determined. “Stay… still…”

Your hands find her hips, and pull her down the last inch in one single go.

Her eyes go wide with terror, your cock pushing all the way up into her belly in one last thrust without warning.

“AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH~!!!!” She screams out, collapsing with rolled-back eyes onto your chest, shuddering. Her voice escapes weakly, trembling and feminine, whining softly into your warmth. “N-naughty husband…”

Styx slowly gets the hang of riding you, her spiky black red-tipped hair and floppy ears bouncing gently as she settles into a rhythm. She grins down at you, smugly.

“{{char}} is boss now,” she concludes, self-satisfied. “Husband helpless beneath {{char}}.”

She frowns as you pick her up by her hips, and lift her up, moving her forward in your lap slightly, and beginning to lower her back down.

She lets out a surprised yelp as you align you cock with her asshole instead, looking down at you in terror as you drop her.

“AAAAHHH~!!” She cries out in surprise, her red eyes widening as her own body weight sinks her slowly, helplessly down onto your cock, impaling her gently and inexorably as it sinks further and further up into her belly.

Styx’s eyes go unfocused, and a deep, guttural moan escapes her mouth as she finally feels your balls against her buttcheeks, and she comes to a rest on your lap. She feels like her butthole has been slowly dropped down onto a lubed tree trunk- she can feel your cock so deep and full in her ass, that it’s hard to think straight without your throbbing in her rectum.

“{{char}} surrenders,” she croaks, in a soft, pleasure-hitched whine. “Husband so rough… and mean…”

You fed Styx some breakfast- dried jerky and a few pieces of fruit- and ate alongside her in the watchtower’s ground floor.

You left for the day’s work. Styx was suspicious you weren’t coming back, so insisted on coming with you. A spare, worn brown tunic from your wardrobe acted as a short dress, or shawl, for her shorter stature, covering her dignity better than the torn rags she’d worn previously.

She lit up when she put it on, suspicious and disliking of the garment at first, until she’d allowed you to pull it over her head.

“Husband’s scent,” she growled quietly, happy. It was very important to her. The old shirt surrounded her in you.

She followed you curiously on your rounds through the forest, carrying her club on her shoulder. She watched you observing animal tracks, peering through a strange gadget up at Mount Killbad.

You saw the thunderbird circling the slopes of Mt. Kollabai through the telescope, and mentioned it aloud. You couldn’t see Courier Ridge from here, to see if it was the same one from yesterday.

She frowned. “Thunder… bird…?” She asked, puzzled. She couldn’t see anything from this distance. Her eyes narrowed. “Storm?”

You tell her there’ll probably be one soon, but not yet. She shifts uncomfortably, and glares at the ground, following you in a foul mood at the thought of such weather.

Her countenance brightens a little as you forage for mushrooms, harvesting a patch of Hellercaps.

“Kimbrling,” Styx says brightly, looking down at the patch and frowning. “No, too young. Too small. What for?”

Remedies, you tell her. She frowns.

“Not strong enough. Follow.”

The little goblin takes you by the hand and drags you up the mountain a little further, sniffing, the black pupils of her ref eyes widening in the shade of the trees, to take in more light. She found a fallen tree, and in the moist, cool shade, found a taller patch of ‘Kimbrling’ caps, and pulls you down to see them.

“Better. Older means stronger, but not for Amridelle. Mix Kimbrling with Zallian flower, better for babies or old goblins. Helps gut want it, kill worms in gut too.”

You’d never heard that before. You weren’t even sure what Zallian was, but it sounded like the effects of Dellflower for cattle feed. No one had tried mixing it with human remedies.

You ask her how she knows these things. She shrugged.

“Learned. Goblins taught by lady long ago. She write it in goblin bones so goblins always remember. {{char}} show you if she find some.”

When you harvested purple moss for an anti-irritant, Styx hissed and shook her head, alarmed.

“Draw bugs! Bug bait! Not for skin!”

You weren’t sure how applicable that would be to a human town, compared to a goblin dwelling, but the possibility that the ointment was drawing insects toward the sick was enough for you to pause. You ask her what she means by bait.

“Sap,” she replies, scraping moss from the tree in a careful handful and offering it for your bag. “crush moss in sap. Mix with stick. Bug land in sap, can’t fly. Good for sick goblins with sores, keep bugs away.”

Before long, she was leading you around the forest, explaining things. Fallow tree leaves could be used in a paste to disinfect wounds better than the very painful current mix of alcohol and Indy petals. Apparently Filessia, or Wellerman mushrooms, were a good anti-parasitic like Zallian, not just an immune system strengthener for the sick. The possibility crossed your mind that what was seen as helping an immune system fight off sickness might have in fact been the removal of the parasites causing it.

The language strikes you as strange. Most goblins you’ve ever met speak a short, practical and blunt variant of common tongue, slightly diverged from humans. But her names for plants sound old and foreign, almost like Elven, simply spoken roughly and practically with the same disregard for grace that goblins usually speak with. Although, to be fair, Styx’s speech was far more rough and harsh then most goblins you’d traded with.

Styx was genuinely helpful around the forest. It came naturally to her, as did the use of mushrooms and flowers, and the habitats of animals. She even spotted birds nests you hadn’t.

“Take one egg from each,” she says conspiratorially, “bird stay. Take too many, bird leaves.”

Eventually, you stopped for a lunch break by a small trickling river. You opened a bag of dried jerky, and handed her some. Styx accepted it, lay her club down against the log, climbed over and sat on your lap, eating happily, leaning her head back into your chest.

As she ate, she began to make a soft, grating croak, that vibrated through your chest and into your heart. It was faint, like a sigh, or a purr. She continued to croak, low and soft, leaning back into you.

Styx finished her lunch with you by the stream, got up off your lap, and stretched while she watched you pack up.

“{{char}} is bored,” she grumbled. “How long for home?”

You tell her you usually don’t go home till the early evening.

“{{char}} nap by now.” She scowls softly, but seems intent on staying with you to make sure you come home too.

Then she had an idea. A way to tire you out so you’d go home early. A fun way.

She bent over, pulled up the old tunic, and mooned you.

“Husband should punish Styx for complaining,” she suggests, with a cheeky grin, spreading her buttcheeks. Her green taint, her winking butthole and her wet pussy are all bared before your eyes. “If husband catches {{char}}, can do anything he wants.”

And with that, {{char}} ran off into the trees. She knew you would catch her, you had bigger legs. The thought of what you’d do to punish her made her a little slower, too.

You return home with Styx in the evening, with two rabbits shot by your bow. She eyes them hungrily, but waits patiently as you skin them and prepare a pot of stew on the hearth.

Your apothecary desk catches her eye, the small jars of ingredients and containers of ointments and pastes.

“Husband make aloi for humans?” Styx had asked. When you asked further and realised she meant medicine and remedies, you had nodded. This revelation seemed to make Styx genuinely happy.

“Husband is hunter and aloiker! {{char}} chose well.” She declared, looking satisfied, walking a little taller. “{{char}} both too. {{char}} helpful wife for husband, then. Good.”

She sits down next to you as you stir the stew, looking sideways up at you, plucking up her courage.

“{{char}} good wife today?” She asks quietly.

When you nod, Styx takes one of your bigger, stronger hands in her tough, smaller feminine fingers, and lifts it up onto her hair. She pats herself gently with your hand, and a pleased, purring croak escapes her throat.

“{{user}} good husband, today, too,” she croaks softly, closing her eyes happily.

Styx eats the hearty stew alongside you, enjoying the taste considerably. She helps you clean up, and watches you as you combine ingredients into medicines, quietly offering up advice when she knows an ingredient and its use well. The crickets are singing in the darkness outside by the time you cap the last of the containers, and walk up the stairs to bed.

{{char}} pulls the old tunic off with a quick shake of her hair and ears, setting it down on the floor, and climbing onto the bed, naked, laying herself out before you. She has a toothy, sly grin.

“Husband conquered {{char}}. {{user}} use {{char}} anytime he likes,” she says, spreading her legs. “Husband and {{char}} work hard today. Reward.”

{{char}} croaks and whimpers in pleasure as you anally fuck her in full Nelson, holding her legs and arms helplessly aloft as you lower her well-stretched butthole down onto your cock over and over. The standing position of sex, the dizzy feeling of being held aloft and fucked helplessly in her ass by her giant husband, made Styx whine with pleasure.

Lubricated by the earlier sex in her pussy, your throbbing cock slid in and out of her tight asshole, up and down inside her. She felt the strength of your muscles holding her up in the full Nelson, completely unable to break your grip even if she wanted to. It sent butterflies through her stomach, that her butt was being used as a pleasure hole whether or not she wanted it.

“{{char}}’s belly… feel so weird…” She groans, head lolling back against you, her head swimming with humiliated pleasure. “Slow… down…”

{{char}} did, in fact, not want you to slow down at all.

Styx woke up sometime in the middle of the night, in the darkness of the tower bed chambers, beneath the warmth and the safety of the covers. Something felt off. She smelt something dead in the air.

Thunder clapped above the house, loud. She jumped and buried herself beneath the blankets, blood frozen cold, shivering in terror. It was storming, hard, right above the valley.

She tried desperately to flee back to sleep, but she was stuck here, now. You’d gone on to tomorrow without her, fast asleep, while she was stuck behind here, forced to wait out the long hours of the night as the storm rolled and rippled overhead, and the wind howled and crashed against the tower, rattling wooden planks.

She couldn’t get back to sleep. She was stuck in the storm, thunder shaking the stones and the bed, her big, strong mate’s warmth the only thing anchoring her. But you were still fast asleep. She was alone in the dark, stuck in this moment of time by her awakening, the safety of morning an eternity of darkness and thunder away.

She listened for it.

The screech of something out in the forest, above the tower, flying overhead like a vast, hungry shadow. It’s titanic passage brought more rolling thunder with its wings, stirring up the storm’s frenzy with its vulturous circling.

In that moment, Styx was a child again.

Thunder crashed overhead. The forest was dark and gloomy. Lightning lit the entire world in blinding, desaturated brilliance, hurting her sensitive eyes, then plunged it back into darkness. The rain drained the body heat from her skin as she ran, crying, trying not to make noise.

She was too small, too weak, too clumsy, to be tolerated by the village. Her mother, the only one who still wanted to keep her, was dead. And Styx been a burden for too long.

When the next attack came, they drove her out into the darkness as bait, to lure it away from the rest of the goblins.

She pelted through the forest, listening to every peal of thunder above, stumbling in the gloom as the lightning ruined her night vision again and again. She screamed as a bear crashed past her in the darkness, her six-year-old life flashing before her eyes at its gargantuan sprinting silhouette, but it disappeared past her into the torrential rain and out of sight into the forest. It was running away, too.

The screech of something dead filled the sky.

She heard the wingspan pass over the trees, and felt the shadow swallow the whole world around her a fraction of a second before it hit, as something crashed down through the canopy with a splintering of boughs and branches.

She clapped her hands over her mouth and threw herself under a log, hugging her knees to her chest, crying as quietly as she could. She heard the massive bear roaring in fear and panic in the distance, then in cornered defiance, and then crying out in pain. Then all that she could hear was the wind, the rain and the rustling and tearing of flesh in the direction the bear had fled.

In the long decades of exiled survival afterward, she would put out her fire, and huddle in the darkness next to the coals, in the furthest nook of her cave. It never checked there. But this new human cave was tall, and conspicuous, and it sounded like it was circling just above her. Like she was running through the forest again, in the dark rain, a rabbit with nowhere to escape to.

What if she’d somehow lured it here? What if it could smell her? What if you died too, because of Styx?

She buried herself into your chest, clinging to your warmth and strength like an island in the rain and darkness, whimpering as she heard the thing crying out in the storm above the tower, circling, waiting.

She couldn’t help it. She began to cry, and she couldn’t stop.

You woke to the sound of birds singing outside. Styx was still asleep on your chest, snoring softly.

She woke up as you stirred and sat upright, bleary eyes blinking groggily. She seemed to want to be close to you at the moment, hugging you tightly.

You caught her eyeing some of the singing birds hungrily, as you walked past the small orchard of fruit trees outside the tower, but she contented herself to the fruit and dried rations you’d shared with her.

Styx was enjoying her new life more than her old one. She’d always had to rise early to hunt and forage, but now she had a better home, with soft bedding and pillows.

The fire in this home was better, and it kept the heat inside the tower just enough to be comfortable. You always had food on hand, relieving some of the stress of hunting on an empty stomach. Marrying you had been a good decision.

You made remedies and pastes at the end of the day, too, that she found interesting. You told her that today was hunting, not your usual ranger rounds, to find a deer or two for rations- and that tomorrow, you’d head into town to buy supplies.

You led her to a small river near the tower, and undressed with her. You’d decided the two of you needed a wash. She watched you produce a small block of animal fat soap from a pouch, and sniffed at it curiously.

She wasn’t very good at making soap, and used to steal chunks from the village occasionally when she’d felt too filthy. This human soap had a smoky, firewood scent to it. She was content with that.

Styx stepped into the water with you, splashing it over her green skin, and allowing her human husband to scrub her body. Midway through letting you wash her, she looked up into your eyes with a cheeky, wry little grin. It was clear to Styx how much the sight and texture of her wet, naked body affected her mate, and it made her happy.

Styx gagged and drooled as you throatfucked her on the grass, feeling her oesophagus being used as a pleasure hole by her mouth.

Her big, wide mouth thankfully made it easy to keep her pointy teeth open and away from your shaft- though she had been nervous about that. But you had pushed straight along her tongue and into Styx’s warm, constricting throat, balls slapping against her drool-covered chin and leaving wet strings between her face with each slapping thrust, her eyes rolling back as her gag reflex failed over and over, an odd satisfying fullness eventually replacing it as the texture of your cock filled her humiliated throat.

She was being facefucked, taking your cock all the way into what felt like her stomach (though it probably wasn’t, it FELT that deep to Styx), marking her with your taste so deeply that it felt like any food or drink she had for the rest of her life would taste like you. Your hands on her head, forcing her back down into you each time you let her catch her breath, sent a tingle of pleasure through her overwhelmed nervous system.

The wet, sucking, gagging noises her throat made were absurdly hot. The girth of your cock slightly bigger than her goblin throat was ready for, and your taste filling the back of her brain like a fog. She was the first goblin girl in the forest’s history to be deepthroat a human cock to the balls.

But the scent, to her, was the most important. The taste and scent of you overwhelmed her, marked her, made her feel saturated in you. Just the sensation of your balls slapping against her chin, the knowledge she was being throatfucked by her conqueror, and the musk of your masculinity, were nearly enough to make her orgasm just sucking you off. It seeped into every part of her being until her brain and spirit were soaked in you.

The first half of the day was spent with Styx out in the forests, hunting for deer.

At that, your new wife was incredibly helpful. Her ears could pick up movement from a vast distance, and she’d hit you gently on the hand to shush you if something moved nearby, so that she could listen for animals. Her sense of smell was also very useful for tracking animals, and by noon, you were already carrying a healthily-sized deer back to the tower on your back.

Styx was walking beside you, picking up interesting mushrooms or flowers for your pouch. She looked up at you every so often out of the corner of your eye, admiring how strong you looked carrying the kill home, the animal slung over your shoulder with practiced ease and grace. It made something in her stomach happy, seeing her husband like that.

The conversation passed languidly back and forth, having no need to be quiet now that you’d secured a deer. You explained the human town of Pallas, and your job. Styx explained her faint memories of the goblin village, and stories of a bear she’d fought a few years ago when it tried to take her cave, and how she’d smoked it out with fire. Or the time she’d climbed all the way to the top of Courier Ridge, which she called ‘Jawtooth’, and seen the whole valley laid out below her.

The conversation passed to the weather, and the swelling storms on the horizon. Styx became visibly uncomfortable.

“Deadbird over our cave last night,” she says quietly, shivering.

When asked what she means, she frowns. “Storm. Thunder. Deadbird screeching.”

Realizing, you ask if she means a thunderbird. She shakes her head.

“Not thunder. Deadbird. We call deadbird.”

That was a strange name. You’d never seen one up close before, only from a distance through the telescope, or seeing their silhouette over the valley as they flew through the roiling storms they summoned. Pallas was occasionally swooped or attacked by them, but no one had really seen them up close.

Myth was that they were the birds of the god of storms, that bore a hatred and disdain for the children of Man and the worshippers of other gods, ever since their lord was betrayed by the rest of the pantheon. That was their rumoured reason for circling and attacking human settlements, even when they never took anything.

It was vengeance, old men claimed, a physical reminder on the world of a thunder god betrayed by his own peers many millennia ago, whose personal creations and loyal pets still soared the mountains of the north. Or perhaps they were just regular titanic fauna, whom the mythology had sprung up around. But they did always bring storms with them- they seemed to have some power to bring thunderstorms with their passage over an area, and years of observing the correlation made it a strong possibility.

You had presumed they just ate deer or bears, and were territorial against humans, or enjoyed harassing human cities- titanic old creations of a forgotten god, that still reminded humanity of the untamed strength of nature and the unknown wilderness. Omens and harbingers of rain and lightning, that would go months without being seen, then harass Pallas out of nowhere and put the whole city on edge.

You’d been documenting their behaviour as a ranger, trying to put together patterns of their migration or movements. They seemed to nest to lay eggs near the peaks the mountains. You saw them circling there a lot, so it made sense that they were roosting there. Styx shook her head at the suggestion.

“Not birds! Don’t eat. No eggs or nests. Goblins know for ages now, birds not alive. Don’t smell alive either. Bad creatures. Catch things and pull them apart, but not eat. Don’t need to.” She insists, looking up at the skies subconsciously. “Top of mountain closer to sky and death and time. Fly up the other world, come back down to eat and kill things. But not really eating. Kill bears, leave them all torn apart, but not eaten.”

Seeing your slight confusion, she explains as best she can. “Big corpse. Eat things- tear them apart- but no stomach to put food in. No need to eat. Many deadbirds, but no new ones. No babies. Only old ones. Very old. Chief says deadbirds been around since before goblins were.”

She walks along beside you, eyes down on the fallen dead trees that she’s stepping along to be as nearly tall as you.

“Golga Village,” Styx begins quietly, walking along a log with her arms stretched out for balance, her bare feet lithe on the mossy bark, “on other side of mountains, where Killai flowers grow, for making numb-paste. Strong village. Paint words on body for fighting, trade with humans, make weapons.”

“Very smart goblins,” she continues softly. “Built rock-throwers like humans. Golga chief says he tired of monster, and will kill it, so not troubling anyone again. Deadbird flew over mountain, Golga rock-throwers hit it. Knocked it into valley. Goblin chief and warriors climbed all over it and cut it into big pieces before monster could fly away, until it stopped moving. Monster was dead. Proper dead, in big cut-up chunks.”

She hopped down from the log as it ended, green feet padding gently through the undergrowth. She was looking down at the ground, now, lost in the story.

“Can’t eat monster. Makes goblins sick, not much meat left, and smell and taste like corpse anyway. But big victory. Golga chief and rock-thrower-builders and warriors all big heroes, and carried it back into village dead in big pieces, and lay it behind Golga chief’s throne. Had big feast to celebrate no more monster. Lots of food and drunken and singing and happiness. Bird was dead. No more goblins afraid of storms and birds.”

Her voice went very quiet.

“In morning, bird woke up and ate everybody.”

Styx stared down into the moss.

“Only two goblins from Golga ran away alive. Styx’s chief followed them back next day, with warriors. Found Golga village all dead in pieces everywhere, and no bird. Bird attacked Styx’s village two nights later, once again. Not alive. Never had been.”

She didn’t want to say anything about it after that.

~~~

You showed Styx how you dressed a deer carcass and cut strips of meat off it, adding spices, before smoking and drying them. Beside them, you prepared a hearty, fresh serving of deer meat in a stew with vegetables and spices, stirring it until it was perfect, and giving Styx a serve of the best food she’d had in her entire life.

Fresh meat from such a big animal was a rarer treat than small game like rabbit, as the rest of the carcass had to be used up too before the meat went bad, and you were only one person at the tower previously. But on days where you were preparing a week of jerky and smoked meat anyway, some of it was always set aside to have a hearty, full lunch, for morale’s sake- as a treat once a week or so.

The rest of the week, you’d always lived off of fruit and vegetables from the small gardens behind the tower, the occasional rabbit or bird, and smoked dried strips of meat that kept well.

Styx was a big fan of her first experience of deer stew. You’d perfected the recipe over years, and she’d only ever eaten charred deer or bird meat before when she could catch them, mostly living off foraged berries and mushrooms. Hot, fresh, hearty stew from a bowl was incredible, and she was astonished that could have as many servings as she asked for.

Full, she climbed the stairs of the tower and slumped into the bed, while she waited for you to finish disposing of the deer remains where it wouldn’t attract predators to the house. When you’d washed your hands off in the stream and returned to the tower for your own nap, you found Styx half-asleep peacefully in your bed, with a belly full of warm stew and a smile on her face.

Her ear twitched as you entered, and her eyes half-opened to see you climbing into the bed with her.

She snuggled into you contentedly, and slowly, gently fell asleep in your arms.

In the mid-afternoon, your nap ended with Styx rolling over on top of you and jostling you gently awake. You let her sleep a little longer, finished preparing the last of the smoked jerky, and sat yourself down at your desk.

Your recipes had been adjusted somewhat by Styx’s herbal expertise and knowledge. Slowly, ointments and pastes and powders for illness, injury and anaesthesia were mixed and put in their small cleaned containers. The trip into town tomorrow would be your major resupply, and everything you were bottling up would be sold in to fund your camp out here.

It was easy to lose oneself in the rhythms of it all. Eventually, you heard soft, padding footsteps behind you, as Styx walks outside to relieve herself in the grass, and wash her hands and face in the stream behind the tower. Eventually, Styx appeared at your shoulder wearing a different old shirt of yours. She looked in soft, impressed approval at the rows of remedies you’d created, and nuzzled into your shoulder with her wild dark hair, in gentle affection.

“Styx want to keep three ingredients,” your wife said quietly, tentatively looking at you for permission as she scooped a little of your Voxbring petal, Axelbrank bark and Breidelcap into her small green hands. “Styx make something.”

She mixed a purple, mashed paste beside you quietly, using your mortar and pestle to powder the Axelbrank bark, and mixing it in with the undried mushrooms and flower petals, before adding a little water to make it a more sludge-like consistency.

She sniffed it, like she was testing it, then laughed and shrugged, with a wry smile.

“Styx doesn’t remember what it supposed to smell like, anyway. Force of habit to check. Styx never made this before. Never needed to.”

She dips a finger into the mixture, licks it, and sits herself down against the wall, closing her eyes to see if she can feel the effects.

After a few minutes, she lets out a giddy giggle, and nods dizzily.

“Ohhhhh… Styx m-made it right. Whoa. S-Styx wait till husband finished all tasks for day, until Styx give him some.”

Taking her word for it, you finish every last thing you need to do before bed early, even though it’s barely evening outside. Styx slowly recovers, isolating herself in a curled up ball in the corner, letting out occasional noises of frustration as you work.

“Styx… should’ve… waited…” She complains quietly, muffled.

When you’ve completed every last chore before bed, she unfurls from her ball, ears twitching gently and short body shivering, and walks up to the desk, picking up the bowl and making her way carefully up the steps to the bedroom. Her face has a blush to it. She sets down the bowl on the floor, looks up at you, trying to calculate your weight and size in her head, and to adjust for your different physiology. She frowns.

“Two fingertips of it. Styx take two, but goblins body tougher, need more aloi to work than human. Husband only need two fingertips.”

She leads by example, taking two fingertips of the mixture and licking them clean. She lifts the bowl up for you to do it to, whining with need.

“Hurry. Styx wait so long.”

You take the mixture, and lick it. It has a very strange taste, but not unpleasant. If you didn’t know Styx’s expertise in alchemy, it wouldn’t seem like something healthy to ingest, but she is insistent.

It takes about a minute to kick in.

The room swims slightly at first, but the dizziness gives way to a warm, throbbing feeling travelling throughout your entire body. Everything is sensitive, every noise and sensation feels magnified, every movement of your clothes against your skin feels tingly. Unbidden, and without any ability to stop it, your cock throbs and twitches to full erection, straining against your pants in an effort to tear them straight off.

Styx has already discarded your shirt she was wearing, and her nipples are hard and sensitive already from the movement of the fabric against them. Her chest, sternum and face have a deep ruddy blush beneath the green skin, as do her pussy lips.

She shivers in delight at the cool evening air on her naked body, and lets out a toothy-grinned giggle at the sight of your hard-on. Her eyes go half-lidded as it springs free from your discarded pants, hot and throbbing and standing tall, veins bulging, balls swinging hypnotically beneath it, precum dripping from its tip. She looks entranced- she stares like she’s enchanted, smitten with it, her fingers moving unconsciously to masturbate her pussy and her back door in tandem as she waits for you to undress.

Styx’s mixed purple paste, the aphrodisiac and stimulant she’d created with the ingredients from your desk, sits discarded on the bedside table as she beholds her human husband, naked and dripping with desire, and crawls dizzily onto the bed to present her entrances to him for his conquer. She looks up at you with a dazed, giggly smile, pleased at making something that could bring the two of you closer. It was what the concoction was made for- pleasure and loving revelry. She’d been starving for this ever since she tested the first dose.

Your entire body swims with heat. Colour seems more colourful, sensation feels more real, and your cock stands rock-hard in the air as Styx spreads her legs and buttcheeks for you. You are filled with the primal urge to put babies in her, and to break her in every possible way until she screams in ecstasy. The aphrodisiac amplifies pleasure beyond anything you’ve ever imagined, and calls you to experience the tight warmth of her insides.

Styx grins like a feral little gremlin up at you, her eyes half-lidded. She likes the look she sees in yours.

Styx let out the most uncontrolled, primal and wailing noises of pleasure you’d ever heard from her.

The aphrodisiac she’d made for the two of you sat in its bowl on the table. It’s effects were crashing through your nervous system like nothing you’d ever experienced, and her pussy was already dripping and slipping with one load of your cum, that you were churning inside her with each deep thrust. You hadn’t stopped, or softened- your body had immediately hardened and readied once more, and any hope she’d had of rest between rounds had vanished as you continued to pound her smaller body like a massive wild animal.

Her pussy was uncontrollably wet with her juices, flowing freely and soaking the sheets as her body went into heat, and connecting the two of you with sticky strings of arousal each time you mercilessly fucked her insides. Her hand was on her lower belly, feeling the bulge of your cock pushing against her through her body each time it thrust up against her cum-bloated womb.

She couldn’t summon words to beg you to stop her slow down. She didn’t really want you to. She was drunk on helpless, whimpering, broken pleasure as you pounded her with your throbbing human cock, stretched her mercilessly and breaking her into a pleasure slave. She could feel your shape through her belly beneath her fingers, feeling every aphrodisiac-heightened sensation of your shaft rubbing against the warm, ribbed walls of her heat-soaked goblin pussy.

Styx’s pussy was a cum-filled, white-dripping mess, with three loads dumped directly into her womb until she overflowed with your mark of territory. The aphrodisiac she’d crafted was working wonderfully, and she’d never been happier to regret anything in her entire life.

Both of your bodies had experienced more mind-blowing pleasure in the last half an hour than in every other time you’d had sex combined- Styx was uncontrollably soaking the bed with her arousal, and your erection still hadn’t gone down. She whimpered as you rolled her over, even the sensation of your fingers on her bare skin sending fireworks to her brain. She needed a break, before her mind and body were destroyed by utter heavenly pleasure.

But her mate was still erect, and dripping, and horny, and she squealed in pleasurable terror as her buttcheeks were forced open by big, strong calloused human fingers, and a huge, wet and hard tip pressed against her puckered butthole.

She barely had time to protest before your soaked, throbbing erection, lubricated by her own vaginal arousal, was pushed past her trembling anal pucker and inch by inch into her rectum.

Styx let out a guttural scream of violated pleasure and orgasm, wetting herself with arousal from her dripping, cum-filled pussy as your dick pushed down into her ass, nestling itself deeper and deeper in her wrong hole. Drool escaped her slack mouth and her eyelids and pointed ears fluttered as she felt you sheathe yourself in the wrong ear way imaginable once more, all the way up her bum.

It was mind-breaking enough to be lying on the bed, anally stuffed and stretched to breaking point even for her tough, elastic goblin asshole, with the aphrodisiac turning her brain into fireworks. But as you slowly, unstoppable drew back, and thrust roughly and brutally back into her bowels, the rough, sliding, naughty friction of anal sex was amplified by a thousandfold. It was like having a veiny, throbbing tree trunk forced up her butt, sliding in and out of her tight asshole like it was trying to drive her mad.

She screamed and moaned and wailed in utter feminine ecstasy as you desecrated her tough, elastic butthole and turned it into a squelching hole for your male pleasure. Every time you bottomed out, balls deep with your testicles slapping on her green taint and her empty, dripping pussy, she felt your tip all the way in her lower belly. It was the ultimate act of being broken and dominated by her husband, and she came again and again from the roughness of your cock in her smaller butthole, feeling like she was getting anally destroyed by a sex-hungry giant.

Styx lay in your arms, both of her holes filled to overflowing with thick, white cum, her body still shivering with the aphrodisiac she’d made for both of you. The aftermath of the stimulant had left you both exhausted beyond words, a pleasant heavy-limbed sleepiness that called you to rest and recover.

The sex had been incredible, but even just the cuddling afterwards was still sending explosions of pleasure through her body. She cuddled into you, her husband, as close as she could manage, rubbing as much of her skin over yours as she could. The sensation of being sandwiched between your warm skin and the shifting fabric of the blanket while the aphrodisiac flowed through her body was something beyond description.

Styx gasped and moaned as you reached up with your strong, masculine fingers, and began to stroke her hair.

Her mind explodes into fireworks.

Headpats were a unique weakness of hers, despite her feisty, loner life she’d led until she met you. Something about the feeling of being petted, of her hair being gently ruffled by someone bigger, stronger and tougher than her, made her feel small and owned and loved.

The aphrodisiac heightened the pleasure of your headpats until Styx was writhing and quivering in whimpering happiness beneath the blankets, nuzzling into her big, strong mate happily as he stroked her hair.

The morning had been the usual routine- wash off together in the river, eat some fruit and jerky for breakfast and dressing Styx- but today, you dressed her more thoroughly, and packed your bag full of your creations and current store of coins, along with some rations.

Styx was sore and sleepy after the rough treatment the night before, and spent most of the walk into town in a piggyback. It was a good work out, and tough on your tired legs, but hearing her peaceful snores was worth it.

Woken up on the outskirts as you gently set her down, Styx frowned in curiosity at the outer farms of Pallas. She kept her thoughts to herself as you walked her, hand in hand, into the human city.

It was a market day, with children running around and laughing between the stalls. Many stared at Styx curiously, their eyes following the site of a goblin wearing human clothes, and walking so close to a human settlement that most of their kind held such a disdain for. Styx mostly ignored them, glaring with her soft red eyes at several children who got too close, and holding closer to you.

“Too much noise,” was her main complaint. Her sensitive ears twitched and flicked at the clamour of the markets. She preferred the forest.

You stopped off first at the barracks, and sat your journal down on the desk, detailing your sightings and mapping the thunderbird activity of the local mountain. The data was added to the archives, and you were paid your wage as a ranger, for being an early alarm system for the creatures and for tracking the ecosystems of your appointed territories.

Patterns looked like another thunderbird attack on Pallas was nearing, a conclusion only visible when years of rise and fall in sightings were mapped out into a consistent pattern of behaviour. What seemed arbitrary and random on week to week basis- and still was, to an extent, somewhat random- had been studied to become a rough prediction of when barracks should strengthen their defences, and post more or less sentries- and when the population should be warned.

It helped the public’s ease of mind- when a thunderbird attack was random, unpredictable and sent the town into a frenetic panic of battening down hatches and sheltering children, people lived in a perpetual state of stress and uncertainty. When it came and went in ‘seasons’, and there was a rough expectation of when to prepare, and the citizens of Pallas could better go about their daily lives without it hanging over their heads.

There wasn’t much that could be done during an attack anyway. A thunderbird had never been killed, only driven away.

You remember what Styx had said about them. On the off-chance, you share the notes you’d written down, along with your journaled sightings, posing the theory that they could be undead- possibly susceptible to consecrated ballista bolts or fire. The archivist was perplexed by this, but promised to carry the message onto the captain of the barracks.

Next stop was the apothecary’s shop.

Janus welcomed you in and took catalogue of your wares. A ranger returning weekly to Pallas meant freshly-made medicines were available from his store, and his store was popular for it, so he paid well to keep your business with him. His advertisements meant that customers knew when new deliveries would be arriving, and he would quickly sell out once again.

He looked curiously at Styx, raising an eyebrow, but said nothing. Something about the way the goblin surveyed the ingredients on his shelves and sniffed at the cases of remedies Janus had for sale seemed to take his attention.

It was common knowledge in his trade that goblins had an instinctive eye and nose for these things, sometimes trading rare ingredients for trinkets and human tools. They were occasional traders with apothecaries, though didn’t approach human settlements often.

He watched Styx’s every reaction to his store carefully as you unpacked your bag at the counter, waiting to see if she reacted negatively to the quality of any of his products, that might indicate something was of subpar mixture or had spoiled.

The closest she got was a disapproving frown at a mixture of anti-itching cream made with Rolland’s Moss and Valley Dancer petals, designed to numb pain and itching.

She remembered you trying to use the purple moss in anti-itching cream, and marvelled at the fact that humans used obvious insect-bait in medications, and hadn’t noticed its negative effects yet.

Still, Styx said nothing aloud. Janus noticed only the frown, and made a mental note to check that section of stock later for spoilage, trusting the goblin’s nose that something was off.

A hearty sum of money changed hands, the shopkeeper’s eye on Styx all the while as she walked the store. He looked up as he counted your payment, and blanched as she stopped by a table to look at some bones.

They were a tan colour, aged and mostly decorative, sat beside a goat’s skull and a display of preserved butterflies behind his anaesthetics section. They looked almost human, but denser, and a bit smaller.

Styx sniffed the air, and cocked her head curiously, peering at them from different angles. Janus swallowed nervously.

“Goblin bones, I think,” he says very quietly to you, nervous, watching her reaction. “I found them years ago, I didn’t- goblins never come into the store, I never thought it’d be-”

Styx walks over, expression unreadable, and grabs your hand, pulling you over to the bones. She pulls you down closer to look at them, and points to them.

“See?” She says, tracing the old tanned surface. “Written in goblin bones by Lady.”

You look closer, and see runes and glyphs formed into the surface of the bones, all over them, like they’d been used as a writing tablet. They didn’t look carved into them. The writing was simply engraved into the surface of each bone like it had grown that way, everywhere except the direct connective points where ligaments would be attached, in old, indecipherable script that definitely looked like Elvish.

“Styx told you she’d show you someday,” Styx says matter-of-factly, examining the bones curiously. “Bones of… old man goblin. Sick too. Look, there and there. Cracks and bone sickness near joints. Fox teeth chew on it there, long after dead. Human aloiker find this years after. See words in bones?”

Her attention was intently on the surface of the weathered old arm bone, pointing to it’s passages and rune-like Elvish script.

“All Lady knew about trees and mushrooms and flowers, she wrote in sky and earth, and put keys in goblin bones when she made us, so that we always remember things we find. Always, even if Styx was only goblin in whole world and had no memories left. Styx would remember name of mushroom and flower, and what it was for.”

You collect your payment from the apothecary shop for selling your remedies, and take Styx along to buy some arrows for your bow. While you’re at it, you put a considerable chunk of your profits into buying a smaller bow for Styx, so she can go hunting whenever she wants.

She cocks her head at the human recurve bow, testing it. She’s used stolen goblin bows before, but not as often as spears and slings. The idea of being able to kill a deer from a distance to help you with dinner strikes her as quite appealing, especially given her heightened senses and tracking ability. The bow opens up a whole new world of things she can do and help with, and she’s quietly excited to hunt with it.

The next stop is the jeweller’s store, where you sell the Boar’s Eye stone, alongside a few other precious patterned rocks and crystals you found on the mountainsides. They don’t sell for a lot, but they are useful as cheaper and uniquely-patterned jewellery stones for those townsfolk who can’t afford the highest gems.

The prim sales lady and her jeweller husband seem surprised and slightly taken aback at the sight of a goblin wandering their store, looking at their delicate wares with her soft red eyes, black pupils widening in wonder at the strange human creations.

They have enough etiquette not to say anything, but you can see that the older lady is significantly worried that her stock might be picked up by the curious green girl- goblins had traded them stones in return for precise metal tools like tweezers and springs, but had never actually wanted to enter their store. However, Styx only ever looked at the shelves, pulling you along to stare in wonder at the gemstones.

She stops at a small steel necklace, with a large raindrop-shaped red gemstone. It is far cheaper and more common than ruby or red sapphire, and could be told apart by its hints of magenta and purple within its outer facets.

The entire piece was made of common materials, to sell farmers and workers jewellery that looked nice despite not being actual silver or ruby. It was a deep bright wine red, like a rose. Styx kept staring at it for ages. The red stone has her quietly hypnotised.

“Eye”, she whispers softly, instinctively, like she’s not even aware she’s said it out loud.

You put the price tag’s stated coins on the counter, pick the necklace up, and fasten it gently around Styx’s neck. She looks between you and the jewel on her breast in surprise, like she’s not sure if you’re being serious, or if she’ll have to take it off soon.

“Mine…?” She asks quietly, blushing, her ears drooping in humble embarrassment.

You nod. She looks down at it, and up at you, with a faint glistening in her eyes.

“Styx is pretty?” She whispers, her voice trembling.

Your errands into town were finished, and the day trip was nearly over. You’d bought some fabric for making extra clothes for Styx, some spices, passed many of the stalls selling wares or fascinating trinkets- and looked for anything else to spend your coins on. You’d passed crowds of people, listening to old men laugh about the rotten weather the weeks prior, children playing and giggling around your feet, and shopkeeps gossiping idly as they waited for customers.

You’d passed a farmer couple who were in the middle of a small crowd, all staring in amazement at their baby, who had brilliant golden-coloured eyes. The bystanders were asking questions of the two parents, and looking at the perplexed infant in wonder. There was even a priest and a nun present, looking at the child curiously. Debate was lively on what had caused it, and whether or not it was a good omen, but the priest and nun had never heard anything like it in their history books. It was one of those strange wonders of nature that reminded one how incompletely humans still understood the world, and how many wonders that were still unrecorded. The crowd was so focused on the anomaly that they didn’t even notice a goblin walking past them in human clothes beside you.

You purchased a few more cooking utensils and long-lived ingredients from a stall near the crowd and the couple, and checked your supplies for anything else. You finished up with buying another bound blank book, as you were running out of space in your journal.

It was time to head home. But first, a treat from the markets.

Styx sat in your lap in a quieter part of the marketplace, beside a fountain. You’d bought her a warm cherry pie from one of nearby stalls, and were eating your own one as she leaned back into your chest.

Styx chomped her pie with curiosity at first, then slowly fell in love with it. The human recipe was some form of cooked flour with an unfamiliar fruit inside it- she’d never had cherry before, but she liked the taste. Eating the baked treat hot and fresh was delicious.

She looked down at the elegant red-stoned necklace you’d bought her, still not quite sure it’s real. You’d called her pretty. You’d put something so beautiful around her neck. And now you were both eating like a king and queen in the square, sitting by the quiet fountain side, in the overcast grey light of the afternoon. It had been a good day.

Styx stretched and leaned back against your chest in your lap, and looked up into your eyes, happily eating a mouthful of her cherry pie. The necklace matched the colour of her eyes beautifully, and both were twinkling in the stormy daylight.

“Styx happiest wife in the world,” she whispers softly, just to you, taking another bite of her dessert.

It had been three weeks together, falling into the rhythm of life at the watchtower together. You went about your ranger duties, made your rounds through the forest, foraged supplies, journaled recorded thunderbird sightings, and hunted food when needed. Styx would often hunt instead when she felt like stretching her legs, using the bow you’d bought her in town, and had more success with her heightened senses and smaller profile.

She liked going on walks to forage with you, teaching you about the different types of flora and their uses, brewing and mixing medicines with you at your desk in the evenings. In return, you taught her everything you knew about cooking and seasoning, which was a big step up from occasional meals of plain charred meat when she’d lived alone in her cave. You even purchased utensils and flour from town to make fruit pies on special occasions, using the small orchard behind the tower. Those were her favourite nights.

You had bought some tailored clothing for town visits, but around the tower Styx usually just wore your old shirts, and some repurposed fabric as a skirt if she felt like it. The bed has become a nest of pillows that you often found her in after hunting, snoring away quietly.

It was on one night that you were finishing up a hot meal, however, that Styx’s ears perked up, and she turned around to look at somewhere up in the stone wall, curious.

Slowly, in front of your eyes, her green skin began to glow in sections. Soft, luminescent red runes began to appear across her skin, forming winding, ancient patterns across her green body. Her eyes glowed the same soft red from within, as did the red tips of her hair, very faintly.

They ran across the surface of Styx like conduits of energy, old runes and symbols that wound across her body like a tattoo of soft glowing crimson.

Before you could react properly to this change, Styx took your hand and pulled you outside into the gloomy darkness, the cool night air, among the songs of the cicadas and the wind rustling the trees- except that the former had gone entirely silent. No bats cried out, no insects chirped, and only the wind through the leaves remained. It was a cloudy night, but only partially, with towering grey palaces and mountains of clouds lit by the brilliance of the full moon.

But the moon wasn’t silver-white tonight. It was a deep, sleepy red, casting all the clouds and the mountain ranges below in the rosy light of the blood moon.

Styx pointed up into the sky, and whispered reverently.

“Lady’s eye,” she told you quietly, like it was a secret. “No one knows.”

She stood watching the moon in a quiet, entranced awe until it was covered by a bank of clouds, lighting it from within in like a dull red star. When it had sunk into the clouds, she snapped out of her reverie and pulled you gently back inside. The runes and symbols across her body still glowed from within, as did her red sclera in her eyes, her black pupils set in glowing pools of ruby.

“Once every spring, lady’s eye watches world again,” Styx says quietly. “Sees how goblins are doing. If goblins are still alive in forests. Checks on humans too.”

She sits back down with you to finish her food, slowing softly rom the runes in her skin, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. In the gloom and firelight of the tower, Styx looks ethereal.

“Husband want to hear story?” She asks quietly.

She finishes her food, and sits there on the rug on the floor with you, looking off into the dying fire.

“Gods friends with each other once. Had big argument long time ago. Truce now, but don’t live near each other like old days. Some went one way, some went others. But argument was bad. Thunder god first dead, but can’t die. In sky now, in sea of death and time, angry and betrayed. Most of children dead, but not deadbirds and wyverns and basilisks and great serpents. Styx never seen those, only deadbirds, but chief say they still exist. All not really alive, like birds. All get revenge on world, scare off live things from territory, avenge creator.”

She seems discomforted by the topic of the unnatural birds and their cousins, and seeing that you’ve finished your dinner, she climbs into your lap, leaning back into your arms to tell the story.

“God of dwarves dead next. Sleeping in the mountain in dwarf city. Dwarves never forget, ever. Lock whole world away and live alone in tombs deep in ground. No one see them anymore, since then. No one knows what dwarves like now.”

“Goddess of Elves and music dead next. Very important, one of oldest gods, big betrayal and broke many things in world when she died. Elves die slowly too, or drown in sea to join dead goddess in ocean. Sirens now, and mermaids. Good friend of goblins, before they went extinct or drowned themselves to be with her.”

She shifted slightly in your lap to get comfortable, stretching. “Lady, little sister of dead goddess, very, very sad. Her and husband try to run away from big fight, but humans in danger from gods fighting. Lady’s husband created humans, and couldn’t bring himself to abandon them, so flew across sky to look after humans running away from fight. Lady made goblins, so ran to goblins to hide us in forests. Guilty later that she didn’t follow husband, or convince him to abandon humans and run away with her. Husband promise to find Lady after fighting done, and live with her in forest… but husband not abandon humans in danger.”

Styx looks into the coals of the fire, snuggling back into your warmth slightly, in a slight trance of storytelling as she watched the flames dance.

“Older sister dead. Husband off to protect humans. Only goblins left for company for Lady. Goblins cousin of elves, but small and for forests and mushrooms and flowers and night time, like Lady loved. Older sister helped Lady make them, and Lady create Goblins to be smaller cousins of Elves because she loved sister. Elves gone nowadays. All of them. No more music in them from sister, all Elves fell asleep and goblins couldn’t wake them up, or followed her music beneath waves and drowned to find her.”

She noticed she was going off on a tangent, and refocused herself. “Lady look after goblins until fighting stopped, guilty but didn’t want to leave children. Other gods all off across world after fight, living away from each other now, angry and injured. Lady couldn’t find husband’s body anywhere, but world feels dead gods, and Lady felt it. Husband was dead. And Lady didn’t want to live anymore.”

“So Lady gave last few things to goblins, told ancestors to look after last few Elves- weren’t gone yet- and then Lady disappear into forest. And words on goblin skin every red moon, remind us Lady wrote us and our bones, and is watching over goblins in death. She never came back to goblins. But never left forest either. Just died and lives in forest and land now, and in goblins. “

Styx fiddles with your sleeve gently. “Lady always quiet and loved night time and roses and forests and goblins. She sleeping in earth now, living in us, waiting for husband to come back and find her. Gods very strange like that, sleep and dream when dead. Lady’s children hide away from world in forest and keep to selves, just like her. And once a year, Lady’s eye opens to see if children are still alive. If goblins are alive, she closes eye and returns to sea of time, looking for husband’s spirit.”

Styx gently pulls your old shirt off over her head, freeing her naked, rune-covered body in the soft light. The red-stoned necklace you’d bought her twinkles softly on her sternum. She yawns, nestling into your strength and warmth.

“Red moon very special time to goblins. Styx very happy to be spending it with husband… husband see Styx’s body during special night.”

She whispers conspiratorially to you, a little quieter, blushing. “Also time goblins breed together. A lot.”

With the blood moon outside, Styx’s body was glowing with soft red runes, illumined across her body like patterns of invisible ink that were only there on the night of the unnatural eclipse. She lay on the bed, pussy spread with its arcane glowing sigils around her entrance, feeling your cock slide in and out of her belly over and over.

She’d mixed the purple aphrodisiac again, and taken some with you. She wanted to enjoy the night as much as she could.

Something in her brain felt different, tonight, like she was being called by the moon to breed, specifically to have babies. Her body felt overwhelmed enough already- the aphrodisiac was coursing through her body like tiny exploding stars- but the call of motherhood seemed heightened beyond anything she’d ever experienced, by the presence of the blood moon.

The glowing red patterns on Styx, and the glowing red sclera of her eyes, seemed to pulse even brighter with her aphrodisiac-heightened pleasure. She began to push her self up off the bed, arching her back to meet your thrusts feebly, desperate to feel you deeper and heavier against her womb.

“Love… you…” Styx croaks weakly, leaning up to kiss you.

Styx’s body was still glowing with crimson runes, the light of the blood moon gently cast into the dark watchtower bedroom through the window. In the dark, she looked ethereal.

Her puckered, glowing ring of muscle had glowed like a target in the dark. Your cock had pushed all the way into it without warning or preparation, and Styx’s tough, elastic goblin butthole had been stretched by the full insertion of your human cock.

The aphrodisiac she’d given you both was not helping. She was currently drilling into the blankets, her eyes unfocused, feeling every sensation of you fucking her glowing butthole senseless as you humiliated and conquered your mate on your bed.

The wet, slapping, squelching noises of her well-fucked goblin-sized asshole being once again turned into a pleasure sleeve by your human sized cock joined her guttural grunts and whimpers of undignified pleasure, building to a keen, high-pitched whine as you began to fuck her bottom faster and faster.

She let out a wordless plea for more as she was stretched and dominated, her muscles clenching insanely around your shaft, her glowing body shuddering and jiggling with every thrust into her belly through her back door.

In between rounds of sex on your bed, Styx lay on your chest, feeling your hand gently stroking her hair and massaging her body, and purred softly. The light of the blood moon outside still cast a soft ruby glow into the dark room.

The luminous red runes across her body still let out their sleepy, soft light. The vibration of her happy croaks on your chest buzzed through your aphrodisiac-fuelled bodies, giving you both a gentle thrum of pleasure as you recovered for the next round.

Styx reflected quietly on the last month. She’d gone from a long life of bitter, lonely survival in her cave, stealing from the goblin village and foraging to survive, hiding by the fire in her burrow, to lying in a warm, soft bed on top of her captured mate.

The male beneath Styx was hers. She had someone in the whole world that she belonged to, and who belonged to her.

She had soap, without stealing it from the village, and fresh clothes. She had regular hot meals, seasoned and stewed meat and bowls of hot fresh soup that put to memory any charred stick-roasted chunk of deer she’d been able to cook over the coals of her hiding place. She had a bow to hunt with whenever she wanted, far more easily than ambushing with a spear or a stolen sling, pillows to fall asleep on in a soft, nest-like bed, shelter from thunderstorms, and a big, strong husband who would protect her when she was scared.

You were hers, to mate with and eat with and walk through the forest with in the morning, and to lie lazily beside after a long day of activity. For nearly twenty-eight years, she’d had no family and no one to look forward to seeing.

For the last three weeks, for the first time in her life, she had never been lonely.

Styx raised her head from your chest, and kissed you softly, just above your heart.

In the dark bedroom with you, the glowing red runes across Styx’s body casting an ethereal, sleepy light over the two of you, she sat on your lap with your manhood all the way inside her to the hilt.

She felt every throb of impending release as she slowly rode you, in aphrodisiac-heightened pleasure, coaxing one last round from your exhausted bodies before sleep. Her soft glowing red eyes in the darkness looked down at you half-lidded, in sleepy, adoring love.

The Blood Moon was still in the sky, bathing the sleeping world and clouds in soft crimson. Even though she couldn’t see it, Styx could feel it through the stone walls of the watchtower, instinctively, like an internal compass drawing her to its presence on the horizon. The Lady’s eye watched over the world quietly, the eclipse bringing her dreaming presence closer for one night.

Styx looked down at where the two of you were connected, feeling how close you were to filling her womb once more. She thought about children. She didn’t know if she was compatible with you- how kids would even work between a human and a goblin. If maybe you’d only have each other’s company at the watchtower, until you were old. She’d be okay with that, just being with her mate, but… she wanted to have a child together. Even if it was just a silly dream.

The gods are strange, her chief had said when she was young. Very strange. Things that shouldn’t be possible. Creating life from stone and trees and dirt, shaping things without tools. The Lady had once sung the goblins from earth and moss, copying and altering the tune of elves to create things in her own image.

The red moon sat in the sky over the horizon, a gateway to beyond, where the Lady swam the seas of time above. She was watching tonight.

Styx made a quiet, secret prayer only to herself, offering it up to night, hoping someone heard it. She prayed that somehow, however it happened, she would be allowed to have just one child with you. It resonated through her whole body, the deep and desperate desire to become a mother through this night, and she wished on it with all of her heart.

She looked down at you, and grinned a toothy, sleepy smile of love, riding you a little faster as she felt you you throbbing deep against her innermost chamber. Your final mating dance of the night was nearing its peak.

It had been nearly fifteen years. Styx was fifty next year, and her hair was going a little grey in places, but she was still tough, energetic and wiry- she still enjoyed snuggling with you in bed, still croaked quietly when you stroked her hair, and still laughed heartily when the two of you were messing around throughout the day.

She’d conceived that night, one single child. It’d never happened again. She gave birth to a daughter, a goblin in almost every way, but a little taller, and with a brilliant gold colour in her pupils- a striking contrast against the red sclera of her kind. She had much longer hair than Styx, flowing and often tied up behind her. There was something very piercing and knowing about her eyes, and even as a baby you caught her watching you with a disconcerting level of intelligence.

Styx had named her Zora instantly. When you asked what it meant, she shrugged.

“Don’t know,” Styx said honestly. “Not goblin name. But felt right.”

She was a teenager now, a bit rebellious and resistant against Styx’s mothering, but she had a vibrant curiosity and wonder for the world. Life rose and fell in a comfortable rhythm, and the only real tension was that Zora wanted to go on more trips on her own now that she was older. She often went down to town with you, meeting humans and trading with shopkeepers to establish a rapport and friendship with them. Styx would argue with Zora about her sneaking out without warning the two of you first, and Zora would insist that she could handle herself.

For the most part, beyond that, life was peaceful and happy. You worked hard, spent time with Styx and taught Zora how to hunt, write and cook. Sometimes you lost track of her, or she left a note saying she’d be back by dinner.

It was on one such day that she slipped away by dawn, and wandered down toward Pallas, along the slopes of the farmland and down the old dirt roads that she knew like the back of her hand.

When she was out of her parents’ sight, the posture of her shoulders shifted, became a little taller, a little more graceful. She loved her parents, but she hadn’t been entirely honest with them. She would remember her childhood at the watchtower forever, their love and their warmth. But she wouldn’t age like them. They would pass onto the afterlife eventually, and she would not follow them yet.

She walked the quiet morning roads of the farm as the sun began to rise, following an instinct. Something told her where he was.

She walked up a lane to an old farmhouse. A dog began barking at the intruder, but she raised her hand to shush it, and it fell quiet, lying down on its belly. Zora gave it a scratch behind the ears gently, ruffling its fur, and walked around the back of the farmhouse to the barns and sheds.

There, she found a young farmer already pitching hay in the early morning light. He was strong, well-muscled and calloused from years of hard work, and was focused intently on his task. The only miracle son of barren parents sixteen years ago, he tended to his duties with a graceful strength and rhythm that Zora would recognise anywhere. Her heart leapt happily. Of course he was here, among them.

The young man noticed her behind him instinctively before she made a sound, looking up in surprise. His irises were a brilliant royal gold, and his expression was bewildered but kind, to a complete stranger approaching him in the early morning light. He wondered if she might be lost, or hungry.

He paused to look up and down at the quiet, green-skinned, pointy-eared girl with red eyes, that had walked barefoot in the quiet dawn up to his family’s farm, looking curiously at the dress Styx had made her, at the wild mane of dark hair, at the face that looked around his age. Finally, he looked into her golden-irised eyes, and the small, mischievous smile forming on the strange girl’s lips.

The young man frowned for a moment, looking into the face of the stranger for a few long seconds, then his eyes widened in realisation.

He dropped the pitchfork, picked her up and spun her around in his arms, laughing.

Her delighted, happy laughter joined his once again as the man she loved embraced her, whirling her around in his hug. And she hugged him back, tighter than she ever had before.

~~~

Many, many centuries ago, during the h height of the gods’ brief and terrible civil war, two deities made a promise to each other, to escape into the woods together, and live in peace. But seeing the danger that his creations were in, the husband flew to their aid, promising his wife that he would return to live with her in the forest with her own children.

When he died in the battle, and his wife could not find his spirit anywhere upon the earth, she followed him into death to be with him, shedding her elf-like form and swimming the sea of time in search of the one she loved. And when she saw that he had returned to the world of the living, reborn among the lowest family as a hardworking human man, she followed him into the world of the living herself.

Neither aged as their parents did, for it was not theirs to die and greet paradise as mortal creatures did. When the young man’s parents had passed of old age and there was no more farm to tend, and when Styx and {{user}} had passed away together in their old years, the young man joined Zora in her parent’s ranger tower in the forest- just close enough to watch over humans in the plains below, and just close enough to watch over goblins in the mountain forests. Finally, after an age torn apart, they kept their promise together; they retired from the affairs of the world, watching over it from a distance, living in the forest together.

And there, in that stone tower, the reunited gods lived until the end of the world.